


you believe in you and i

by orphan_account



Category: Big Little Lies (TV), Big Little Lies - Liane Moriarty
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, that's p much all i can think of to tag my brain is soup im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's beautiful, it's so beautiful (this life of yours).





	you believe in you and i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elainebarrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elainebarrish/gifts).



It starts with a divorce and ends in a romance, and isn't that funny, because you're American and you have a dream and it's the  _ American _ dream, spangled with stars and stripes and drunk on patriotism, because these are the United States of America and it should start with romance and end with divorce. But Madeline Martha Mackenzie is a different kettle of fish altogether.

“Ed left,” she tells you. She's curled up on your sofa, holding a glass of wine, and she's just two glasses past sober and furious with the world. “He thinks I'm still in love with Nathan, which is, frankly, bullshit. I think he just wanted an excuse, y’know? The business with Perry-” here she stops, and throws you a guilty, furtive, and apologetic glance. “Well anyway. I think he's just got this gigantic inferiority complex.”

“I'm sorry,” you murmur, running your fingertips around the rim of your glass, and instead of looking at her and that expression you know she's wearing, you look at the wine, at the dark crimson liquid winking in the low light of your living room. It's beautiful, it's so beautiful (this life of yours), and you wonder whether you'd be able to focus so hard that you could become that wine. Or better yet - you could become Maddie's, and gently peel away her inhibitions and warm her from the inside out, you could make her smile that giddy smile and laugh just a little too loudly.

She says, “oh don't be. Good riddance.”

You look up at her now and you see that she means it. Her mouth is set and her jaw raised in that defiant way she has, and you think that the only thing she's really,  _ truly  _ rattled over is the fact that she's been left again. Madeline Martha Mackenzie, the original barbie of the West Coast, the prettiest woman for miles and miles (certainly the prettiest woman you've ever seen; and if  _ she  _ can't keep a man then how much hope do you have? Not that looking for a man is particularly high up on your list of things to achieve - you've got Ziggy, and he's the only guy you'll ever need or even want - but still.)

“I think it's a Monterey thing,” she's saying, her voice uncharacteristically low and warm, dripping into the room like honey. In that moment you love her, you love her for this evening, for the way she's sitting, for the way her hair’s pulled back and for the AC/DC t-shirt she's wearing, and for the way she's been hushed since Ziggy went to bed, for the way she pulled him into a hug when he shyly said goodnight, for the way you can tell that she loves him like he was her own. “All of the men around here don’t realise how lucky they are, the women are all just gorgeous and perfect moms and perfect wives. The men get lax, they think they can just throw one away and get a newer, prettier model within a week. As if women are cars, as if the women of  _ Monterey  _ are cars.”

You smile, and nod. “I know what you mean,” you say. “It’s like they get complacent, too comfy.”

“Exactly.” She shares a smile with you, a smile that you let yourself believe is just for you. Suddenly, you want her to keep talking, you want this silence that’s spinning out between you to shatter because it’s so thick and so heavy and you imagine that it’s loaded, and you hate that you know that you’re just imagining that. And doesn’t that make you a bad person? That you’re sitting on your armchair, across from this woman who’s in the throes of a divorce, and you want nothing more than to kiss her. You’re sure you’ve never wanted anything so badly - you want to get up and cross the room and cup her face and kiss her, pull her toward you and hold her and be held by her more than you want air.

“Except for Tom,” she says pensively. “Are you still seeing him?”

You smile, come crashing back to reality, and sip your wine. “No,” you say. “I think men are, well… I think I’m done with them.”

“Is that because of…?”

“No.” You wince at your tone, that slightly abrasive and defensive thing that seeps into your words sometimes. “Sorry. No, it’s not because of Perry, or because of anything like that.”

_ Boyfriend? Girlfriend? I shouldn’t assume, I’m open to all possibilities.  _ Hadn’t she said that on the first day you met her?

You take a deep breath and push on. “I’ve just always had more of a connection with women, I guess. For ages I dated men because I thought that was what I had to do? But my relationships with women, platonic or romantic, they’ve always just been, like, more fulfilling. And with Tom…” You pause. “Ziggy didn’t like him so much, anyway.”

She smiles again, and you become aware that she’d been watching you talk with a rapt attention, like she knew that what you were about to bring to her was something she wouldn’t immediately understand, but she wanted to. “Compulsory heterosexuality?” she asks, and reaches forward again to refill her glass.

“I- yeah.” You’re thrown, bemused that Maddie would know a term like that and employ it so efficiently. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“So you’re gay?”

You nod after a split second of hesitation.

“And a partner has to be approved by Ziggy.” This one isn’t a question. She knows that that’s true, that it will always be true. It can’t work for you if it doesn’t work for him. “God. I wish more mothers were like you, Jane.”

It’s a compliment that you’ve become used to accepting, and maybe the only compliment you will accept without immediately arguing. You and Ziggy have something that you’ve not seen many times before, something that you never had with your own parents, and something that not even Bonnie has, for all of the love that she piles on Skye. It’s as if you brought Ziggy into the world on the mutual and total understanding that you’re so damn lucky to have each other. And it’s something he has never tried to dispute, even on his worst days, and you love him endlessly for that.

Maddie finishes her wine and stretches, before she looks at the time and sighs. “I should get back,” she says. “ _ Home.” _ The bitterness in her voice surprises you, and you raise your eyebrows.

“He’s letting me keep the house,” she explains, sinking back into the cushions before she shakes her head and sits forward again. “On the condition I agree to let him be Chloe’s primary caregiver. So I’m not keeping the house, because he’s not keeping my girl.”

Your eyes widen, and one hundred percent of you wishes she’d brought this up sooner. “Madeline-”

“It’s fine,” she says, waving away your words before they leave your mouth. “Celeste is going to be my lawyer. I trust her.”

“Of course, but-” But what? What can you say, what can you possibly offer her to ease the strain of a divorce that’s going to be nothing but ugly? At least with Nathan there had been no question over who was going to get Abigail. “I’m so sorry, Maddie. It feels so inadequate. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” she smiles. “I’ll call you the next time I want some more of this excellent wine.”

You nod, fumbling around for something to say, for some magical fix-it that will make all of this disappear. “Well, feel free to. But after the third time you'll have to start washing up the glasses.”

“Why after the third time?” she laughs, the easiness returning to her, bleeding into her and brightening her smile. 

“Those are the rules,” you say, shrugging. “It's a well known and established fact that after the third time of wine drinking you're no longer a guest.”

“Well shit,” she muses. “How much washing up do you think I owe at The Blue Blues?”

You both start laughing, that kind of laughter that bubbles up and won't be contained, and you don't know whether to blame the wine or the way she's looking at you as she struggles to not wake Ziggy up with her giggles, or the relief that sweeps through you every time you pause to think about how fucking lucky you got by moving here, to this little town, and into the lives of these people who have accepted you as nothing less than one of their own.

She finally gets a hold of it and you do too, and you wipe your eyes, still chuckling to yourself as she stands up and pulls you into a hug. “Thank you,” she says. “For this evening. For everything.”

“It's alright,” you say, and your heart does a little flip when she presses her lips to your cheek briefly.

“I'll see you on Monday for the school run?” she asks. “Maybe we could grab a coffee? If it's not too awkward with Tom, of course. I can't  _ believe  _ neither of you told me you'd broken up!”

“We weren't ever together, Maddie,” you say gently, and she shrugs in that way of hers and rubs your arm before she's pulling out her phone to call an Uber.

There's a small noise from Ziggy's room and you wait for it, tuning out Maddie rattling off your address, until he calls you. “Mom?”

“I'm coming, babe,” you say, gesturing to Maddie, who nods.

When you come out of Ziggy's room again, Maddie’s gone, and the glasses you'd used are washed up and sitting on the draining board. You grin to yourself and make sure the doors are locked before you pull out your bed and get your pyjamas on, resisting the urge to sleep with your head on the cushion that smells the strongest of Madeline’s probably extortionately expensive perfume. Nevertheless, cushion or no cushion, you fall asleep with a goofy smile on your face and a warm feeling in your stomach.

 

“I’m not staying there,” Maddie’s saying, and Celeste is nodding, placating, while she scribbles notes on some paper that even looks expensive. “I’m not. If he wants the house, he can have it. He can have it now!”

Here, Celeste looks up, glances at you and then at Maddie. “Maddie…” she says softly. “Have you got anywhere else to go?”

“I can stay with you, right?”

“I’d love to say yes but I don’t have that house anymore. There’s barely enough room in the apartment for the boys to play without getting cabin fever and someone losing an eyeball.”

Maddie falters, and you shrug. “My place isn’t much bigger,” you say. “But you can stay with me and Zig?”

“Are you sure, Jane?” Maddie asks, looking as hopeful as a puppy picked up from the side of the road.

“Course,” you say, spooning the froth from your cappuccino into your mouth. “Ziggy won’t mind. Might be nice for him to have someone other than me to interact with at bedtime.”

“Nonsense, that little boy adores you,” Maddie argues, but she looks more than relieved.

Celeste smiles, and looks down at her paper, makes another note. “Perfect. So you’ll stay with Jane, and we’ll organise a time for you to go and get your things.”

 

Maddie, it turns out, has more things than you and Ziggy will have, combined, in your lifetimes. You stand outside your house, next to Maddie, both of you staring at the open mover’s van and the infinite boxes and bags inside it.

“There’s no way-” you say.

“We should-” she says.

“Storage?” you ask.

“I can rent it. For now?”

“Garage?” you ask, both of you turning and shielding your eyes from the sun with your hands to assess the size of your garage. “Some of it can go in the house, we’ve got room in Ziggy’s room and the living room, and we can squeeze the rest into the garage, I’m sure. I’ll just park the car on the road.”

“You’re an angel,” she beams, turning to look at the driver who looks mighty unimpressed as he focuses on rolling himself a cigarette. “Isn’t she just an  _ angel?” _

“Yeah, an angel, sure,” he mutters distractedly. “So where are we movin’ this shit to?”

It takes about half an hour of ferrying boxes into the house and then into Ziggy’s room and then out of Ziggy’s room and into the garage, but eventually it’s all in. Maddie gives the driver a hefty tip, and you promise Ziggy pizza and chips for tea because he’d been so helpful.

 

“Where’s your room?” Maddie asks, standing amidst her boxes, her hands on her hips. “Can I just put my dresses in your wardrobe?”

“I share a wardrobe with Ziggy,” you tell her, nodding toward his room. “And I sleep in here. I’m sorry, it’s gonna be cramped until we manage to find you some storage.”

“You sleep where, sorry?”

“Here.” You gesture to the sofa, and thank god that you got over being embarrassed about financial things and small houses and sofa beds a long time ago.

“You don’t have a bed?” she asks, looking appalled. “Oh, honey! You should have told me, we could’ve done a fundraiser for you!”

Ziggy giggles, and you resist the urge to look at him - knowing that the two of you were wont to not be able to stop.

“Maddie…” You throw the cushions off and pull out the bed, and for a second she looks like she’s lost all powers of communication.

“There’s a bed in the sofa?” she eventually asks, looking between you, Ziggy, and the bed between you as though she’s expecting somebody to jump out and yell April fools, or like she’s waiting for you to tell her that she’d been drugged or she’s dreaming the impossible dream: a world where sofas and beds are one and the same.

You blink at her and say “Yes, it’s a sofa bed?” and meet Ziggy’s eyes. He’s shuffling on the spot, keeping his mouth covered, trying desperately hard to remain composed. “Hey, babe, why don’t you go grab one of those ice creams we got, huh?”

He sprints off to the kitchen, and you and Maddie both start laughing, although she still looks bemused as though you’d presented her with a closet full of severed heads.

“So, we’re sharing this?”

“Unless you wanna sleep on the sofa.”

It takes her a minute before she starts to laugh again, and she has to climb over several boxes to get to you so that she can swat your arm affectionately. “You’re terrible,” she says, and then looks toward the kitchen where Ziggy is stifling his laughter with the ice cream he’s eating. “You’re terrible too, kiddo! I can’t believe you’d both make fun of a vulnerable, lonely woman.”

“You’re not vulnerable,” you say, grinning and focusing on putting the bed back so that you don’t have to focus on her flowery perfume, or the way she’s forced by the limited space to stand so close that you can feel her breath on your shoulder (god she’s so small) and her arm brushing yours. “And you’re not lonely. You’ve got the entire male population of Monterey lusting after you. And yeah, okay, half of the female population might be scared of you but the other half is in love with you.”

“Is that right?” she sits down on the armchair and watches you struggle with the springs and the frame of the bed. “And to which half do you belong, Jane no middle name Chapman?”

Your stomach drops and in just two seconds you’ve imagined the whole scenario: she’ll figure out that you have a crush on her, and then she’ll assume that you’re taking advantage of her, and she’ll realise that she hates you, and then Celeste will, and then Renata, and then Bonnie, and this fragile thing you’ve been cultivating with the four of them will be obliterated in one fell swoop. You’ll have to move again, and Ziggy will hate you for it but he won’t complain, and then one day before his eighteenth birthday he’ll tell you that you ruined his childhood and he’ll move out, leaving you to be a lonely spinster who used to be in love with Madeline Martha Mackenzie and Monterey.

“I’m not part of the population of Monterey,” you say, evasively, and pray to god that she doesn’t see the way your cheeks are burning with a blush that crept up your neck at some point within the last ten seconds. “Do you want a drink?”

“Nicely avoided. You’re smart - I like that.” She grins, and crosses her legs beneath her. You’re momentarily distracted by the way her skirt rides up a little bit, and then she interrupts your thoughts by humming. “Do you have lemonade?”

“We should do,” you murmur, heading toward the kitchen and kissing the top of Ziggy’s head as you pass. “Go and do your homework, Zig, let me know if you need anything.”

After a few seconds of rummaging in the fridge you straighten up and turn to tell Maddie that you do indeed have some lemonade, and see that she’s replaced Ziggy and is leaning on the counter, watching you intently.

“Uh, do you want some ice?” you ask, gesturing to the bottle in your hand before you squeeze past her to grab a glass.

“Please,” she says. “Honestly, Jane, I can’t thank you enough for this. For letting me stay here, I know it’s not ideal but it’s  _ such  _ a great help.”

“Don’t mention it,” you say, and you’ve never meant a thing more in your entire life. You hand her her drink and watch her take a sip, and the sun is just in the right position, just in the right moment of setting that it’s streaming through the windows, flooding your kitchen with its golden comfort. It surrounds Maddie, does something to her, fills her up and makes her celestial. Her eyes seem unnaturally, painfully blue, and the light catches her flyaway hairs and blurs her edges and makes her seem unbearably soft. This woman who would take on the entire world in half a heartbeat if it had wronged her friends (and you. She would do it for you, too), this woman who has seen the worst things happen to those she loves, this woman who has been through two divorces, had two children with men who could never really love her. (Who could never really love her, not like you could. Not like you do). This woman, this force of nature, she’s standing in your kitchen looking like she’s been dipped in sunlight, sipping lemonade and watching you watch her with an undefinable curiosity on her face.

You clear your throat and look away, busy yourself moving things from one counter to another, filling up the vase of sunflowers that’s on the table with fresh water, suddenly unable to look at her at all. You’re scared that your want, your need to be loved by her is written all over your face, because you’re good at hiding things. Bad things. You’re good now at not flinching when men touch you, you’re good at stuffing your trembling hands into your pockets whenever men try to flirt with you, you’re good at drawing your hoodies tighter around you and blending, disappearing into the background in the wake of boundless women like Madeline and Bonnie and Celeste and Renata. You’re good and well practiced at grabbing Ziggy and pulling him into the tightest, safest, most reassuring embrace when you need grounding, but this is entirely new. You don’t know, not for one second, the first fucking thing when it comes to hiding your love - and isn’t that a stupid thing to want to hide? There’s not enough love in the world, not enough at all, but here you are, wishing for all the world that the floorboards would open up and swallow you whole, because you can’t bear to look at Madeline right now and find pity in her gaze, or a sort of polite detachment that she reserves for people who she knows has fallen for her.

“Thoughtful Jane,” she muses, smiling over the rim of the glass, and her tone is so soft that you almost miss it.

You blink and shake your head, smiling at the table that you’re now cleaning rather obsessively. “Sorry,” you say. “Ziggy’s class has a play coming up and he wants to audition for it. I was miles away, thinking about, y’know… costumes and stuff. I’ve never really been that handy with textiles, it was always my mom’s forte. One time in one of the plays I did at school, I was, uh, y’know… God, what’s his name. Dodger. From  _ Oliver Twist?  _ And she made me these neat little pinstripe trousers with holes in the knees and everything.”

“Sounds good. And that’s not a skill you inherited from her?”

You risk a look up as you rinse the cloth out and then throw it into the sink. “Nope,” you say, grinning. “No such luck.”

“Shame.”

“You think?”

She nods and finishes her drink, and moves to the sink to wash the glass up. You want to tell her to leave it, but she slips out of the sunlight and it’s as though she’d caught the rays and become a source of light all on her own. You step out of the way and she squeezes your arm as you pass, and you only just manage to not suck in a breath audibly.

“I’m- I’m gonna go check on Ziggy,” you say, stopping to clear your throat that suddenly has become pinhole tight. “Make sure he’s doing his homework.”

“Okay,” she says, shooting you a smile over her shoulder. “What do you two fancy for tea? I’ll see if I can whip something up?”

“I promised Zig pizza and chips. For helping, earlier.”

She laughs and it’s a quiet thing. “Okie dokie,” she says, grabbing the towel and drying her hands off. “I’ll order it in?”

“You don’t have to-”

But she’s already reaching for her mobile, already dialing the number, so you just smile and slip out, praying you can catch a breather and calm your heart rate down in Ziggy’s room for five minutes.

 

“It’s still alright if Maddie stays with us for a bit, right, Zig?”

He looks up from his homework and nods, offering you a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I dunno, babe, I just thought I’d check.” You cross the room and rest your hand on top of his head, leaning over him to see what he’s working on. “Oooh, math. Exciting!”

“Mom.” He rolls his eyes, rubbing out some of his workings. “How long’s she staying?”

“We’re not sure yet. It depends on how long it takes her to find someplace else.”

“Okay. Will Chloe be coming over?”

“Probably, yeah. I think so. Do you want her to?”

He nods and looks up at you, smiling his toothy smile that makes your heart ache. “I like Chloe.”

“I know you do, honey.”

“Is it okay with  _ you  _ if Maddie stays?”

You smile, try to blink away the familiar heat of tears that bubbles up whenever he reminds you of his genuine kindness. “Yeah, yeah of course it is. We wouldn’t have invited her if either of us weren’t good with it, right?”

“Right.”

“‘Cos that’s how it works around here, right?”

“Right.” He grins at you, and then heaves a sigh. “Mom, do I really have to do this homework now?”

“Yeah, you do. I’m sorry, but the quicker you get it done the quicker we can have pizza!”

“You got pizza?!”

“Course! I said we would, didn’t I?”

He laughs, and you press a quick kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll call you when it’s here, okay?”

“Okay, Mom. Thanks.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You slip out of his room feeling like your heart is six sizes bigger, and then you see that Maddie’s made an attempt at piling her boxes against walls to make something that half resembles a walkway if you squint. She’s also managed to pull the bed out and set the blankets on it, and she’s sitting cross legged on it in what look suspiciously like pyjamas.

“Is he okay?” she asks, and the concern that’s in her eyes and in her voice makes you smile.

You kick your shoes off and nod, and say “Yeah, he’s good. Getting to grips with long division, so he’s probably not  _ happy.  _ But he’s alright.” You climb onto the bed and sit in the middle of it, facing her, and thank god for the low lighting of the energy saving bulbs in your house that mean you can kid yourself for a second that this is some sort of romantic. “Are you okay? I’m sorry there’s not much room.”

“It’s perfect,” she says softly. “I’m perfect. It’s nice to have people to fall back on when this happens. Not like last time, when Nathan just decided to up and leave.”

“Well, if I’d been there last time I’d have shared my sofa bed with you then, too.”

She laughs, and pulls her hair up into a ponytail. “I have no doubts. No doubts at all. You’re a genuinely good person, Jane. I’ve said that from the start.”

You smile and rub the back of your neck. Her penchant for being right about things and people is something she might never tire of, and her need to remind everyone who stands still long enough that she was, indeed, right about one thing or everything is something that you might never tire of, either.

 

The night slips by faster than you’d like, with Ziggy joining you when the food was delivered, and Maddie flirting with the delivery guy in a way that makes your stomach twist the tiniest bit.

“I’m a free woman,” she’d said, seeming delighted and jubilant with her new found freedom, but there had been something just behind her eyes, just behind her smile, that felt like a desperate kind of sadness.

You send Ziggy to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth and then you both give him kisses before he heads to bed. When he hugs you he holds you a little tighter than normal, and you kiss his temple before whispering that you’ll be right out here if he needs you, and then he hops down and leaves you and Maddie alone.

“I should get some sleep,” she says, after you both take the pizza boxes to the kitchen and sort out the leftovers and the recycling. “I’ve got to meet Celeste in the morning. Hey! I could come with you and Ziggy on the school run, and meet Celeste there.”

“Makes sense,” you say. “Especially as we’ve only got one car between us.”

You point her to the bathroom and get changed into your pyjamas while she’s in there brushing her teeth, and as you’re going around locking up she slides into bed and gets comfortable.

“It’s not the best bed in the world, I’m-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts. “Really.”

You smile and get into bed beside her, throw one last glance toward Ziggy’s closed door, and then switch the light off and let darkness join the silence.

“It’s so nice of you to let Ziggy have the bedroom,” she whispers after a few seconds. “I wouldn’t have done that for either of my kids.”

You laugh and turn over onto your side so that you’re facing her, and you can just about make out her face in the gloom. “I’m sure you would’ve,” you whisper back.

“Feels like a sleepover, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“I’m glad you offered this.” Her voice is already thick with sleep, and you’re glad for the darkness, glad that she can’t see the smile that’s on your face and the ease about you that’s not easily achieved these days.

“I’m glad too,” you breathe, and there’s no more conversation as you both slip into an easy sleep.

 

Ziggy wakes you up at three o’clock, his face pale and fretful even in the darkness, and you can sense his distress before you even open your eyes.

“Mom,” he whispers, tapping your shoulder. “Mom.”

“Hm, what’s up, babe?” you open your eyes and pull yourself up, throwing one glance over your shoulder to make sure Maddie is still asleep. “Did you have a nightmare, Zig?”

He nods, his eyes wide and you see the tear tracks on his cheeks as your eyes adjust and you blink the remnants of sleep from them.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you whisper, reaching for him and wiping his cheeks with your thumbs. “Huh?”

He shakes his head, and you can feel him trembling through his thin pyjamas. “Can I sleep in your bed?” he whispers, and again you look over at Maddie who seems for all the world to be dead to it. “Mom? Please?”

“Of course you can,” you murmur, shifting up carefully, so that you’re almost flush against Maddie and there’s enough room for him to climb in and attach himself to you. You realise that he’s still crying so you wrap your arms around him as tightly as you can, and hush him quietly.

“Jane?” Maddie shifts, and she sits up and peers over your shoulder. “Oh, no, Ziggy… Are you okay?”

“He had a nightmare,” you whisper. “Sorry for waking you, Maddie.”

“It’s okay,” she returns, just as softly, and her voice is gravelly and thick with sleep. “Is he staying?”

You nod, and will her not to say anything as you press your lips to Ziggy’s forehead. Thankfully, she just nods and rubs your shoulder before she lays back down and fits herself against you almost subconsciously. You can tell she’s already almost asleep again as she throws an arm around both you and your son and rests her forehead against your shoulder blades. Within minutes, she’s snoring softly again, and Ziggy seems to be drifting too. So you lie in the dark between two of the most important people in your life, two of the most important people in the universe, sandwiched tightly between them, and you let yourself feel safe for the first time in years.

 

You wake up in the morning to your phone vibrating insistently against the table. At some point during the night Maddie had managed to slip a leg between yours and was so tangled up in you that in your sleep addled state it’s difficult to discern who begins where. You grumble and untangle yourself from Ziggy, and attempt to shake some blood and feeling back into your arms before you rub your eyes and sit up to reach for your phone.

They both wake up at the same time, and Ziggy sits up, blinking owlishly in the pale morning light. He reaches out for your arm and tugs your t shirt insistently as you squint at your phone, trying to figure out how to turn the damn alarm off.

“What’s up?” you ask him, turning to him only once the phone had shut up.

“Is Maddie coming to school with us?” he asks, his voice low and tentative as he watches Maddie claw herself from sleep, rousing herself with quite some obvious difficulty.

“Yeah, she is.”

He nods, and rubs his eyes, and you smile. “Feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” he yawns. “Should I get breakfast ready?”

“I’ll sort that,” you say. “You go and get ready for school, yeah?”

He leaves, picking his way past boxes and boxes and boxes before he manages to reach the bathroom, and you sit back once the door is closed and wonder for a second if there’s anything you’d be able to do about his nightmares.

“Is it really time to get up?” Maddie grumbles, gravitating to you and attaching herself to your side, and you almost gasp at how cold she is.

“Yeah, it really is,” you say, smiling down at her, at the little furrow on her forehead, as if the world had served her a massive injustice by daring to be morning before she’s ready. “What do you want for breakfast? We’ve got cereal, bread, bacon, eggs?”

“I’ll have whatever y’all have normally,” she mutters, and her breathing is evening out again so you jab her in the ribs and she groans.

“Do you want a coffee?” you ask, and after a moment she nods and reluctantly opens her eyes. “I’ll go and put some on. You’re gonna want to shower, right? So you should probably go do that if you wanna come on the school run with us.”

She mumbles something you don’t catch and you pull yourself away to slip out of bed and start making breakfast. You opt for Ziggy’s favourite - poached eggs and toast, and you have it done by the time he’s come out of his room in his school uniform and Maddie’s only just managed to become vertical.

She shuffles over to the table and sits down heavily, and you hate that she still looks fucking beautiful even half asleep and grumpy enough to probably sucker punch you if you said the wrong thing. The three of you eat together and as soon as you’re done you put the bed away and attempt to tidy up a little bit, and Maddie at some point decides that it’s time to shower.

“We’ve got an hour or so before we have to leave,” you say, and she just nods, leaving behind a faint smell of coffee and lingering perfume.

You and Ziggy exchange looks before you put on some music and he helps you to clear up the breakfast things, the two of you dancing around each other. Hearing him laugh is a relief the way it always is after he’s had a bad night, as though there’s a part of you that truly believes every time he cries that you’ll never hear him laugh again.

Half an hour passes and the shower is still running. Briefly, you wonder whether Maddie had fallen asleep in there, but every time you start to get concerned she sings the chorus of a song you’ve never heard, and every time you turn to Ziggy, who just raises his eyebrows and grins at you.

At the forty minutes mark, you knock on the door, shout that you’ve only got twenty minutes left. After about five minutes there’s a yelp and the water abruptly shuts off, and then there’s silence.

“Maddie?” you call, your palm flat against the door. “Maddie? Are you alright?”

“The water!” she calls back. “It went so  _ cold!” _

You pause, and shake your head. “You used up  _ all  _ of the water?”

The door is wrenched open and she’s standing in front of you in a towel, looking affronted and tiny in her way. “There’s a  _ limit  _ to the water?”

“Well, yeah- Maddie-” you glance at your phone and shake your head. “Yeah, there’s a limit, but we’ve got ten minutes before we need to leave.”

She grumbles and grumbles as she moves from pile of boxes to pile of boxes, apparently looking for a very specific outfit.

You usher Ziggy from the room and into the kitchen to give her some privacy, and finish off your coffee. She makes you look bad, you think, you who can roll out of bed and drag a brush through your hair before you throw it up into a ponytail and grab the nearest plaid shirt and pair of skinny jeans and call yourself done for the day.

“Are we gonna be late, Mom?”

“No,” you assure Ziggy, who’s looking at the closed door dubiously. “If we leave late, Mommy’ll just drive fast, okay?”

“Okay…”

 

You leave the house twenty minutes late. It was just  _ that  _ important for Madeline to wear that  _ particular  _ pink dress and those  _ particular  _ heels, and then it was absolutely life-or-death vital that she wear makeup and blow dry her hair, because  _ c’mon, Jane, the school won’t really mind if he’s late. This’ll be the first time, and they only pretend to care about that for the first week, and then it’s fair game for anyone. _

 

Ziggy, thankfully, to his credit, isn’t the sort to get het up and anxious about punctuality, and seemed to be regarding the whole situation with a kind of banal humour. You don’t have time to stop to be proud of him for that, so you make a mental note to do it later.

And by some stroke of luck you pull up to the school at break neck speed and you’re only two minutes late. You hurriedly kiss him goodbye and tell him to have a fantastic day, and then he’s gone, running into the building, and you finally allow yourself to relax against the seat, turning to grin at Maddie, who doesn’t even have it in her to look sheepish.

“I’ll drop you off with Celeste and then I’ve gotta do some shopping,” you say. “Just call me when you’re done and I can come pick you back up?”

She smiles and nods. “That’s perfect,” she says. “Thank you. You’re an angel.”

So you drive her to The Blue Blues and drop her off before you head to the supermarket with a small list of things she likes to eat and a few things to pick up for Ziggy.

 

Celeste is sitting in The Blue Blues with Bonnie, and Maddie picks her way through the maze of tables with a bright smile.

They’ve ordered her a coffee and Celeste looks happy, which is good considering she’s been in contact with Ed’s lawyer and she has things to report.

“How’s it going?” Bonnie asks as Madeline slides into the seat between them.

“Good! Yeah, good. I think Jane broke about every speed limit in Monterey to get Ziggy to school on time, but we made it.”

“Celeste says you’re staying with Jane?” Bonnie asks, smiling and cupping her mug of green tea with both hands.

“Celeste is never wrong.”

“I’m so glad that you’re finally together!”

There’s a moment of silence and a shared look between Celeste and Maddie, which Bonnie follows and her eyes widen.

“Jane and I aren’t together,” Maddie says, laughing, but she can’t quite bring herself to meet either of their gazes. She’s suddenly thinking about the conversation she and Jane had the other night when Jane told her that she’s gay, and she can’t say why. (Although ‘suddenly’ is a stretch - she’d be lying if she tried to convince anyone that she’d actually stopped thinking about that conversation since it happened, but she’s not about to admit that to them. Not just yet, anyhow.)

Celeste is laughing, holding her hand up to cover her mouth and stifle her giggles. “That’s so silly, I’m sorry, Bonnie, but  _ imagine!  _ Jane and  _ Maddie!” _

Bonnie looks at Madeline and raises an eyebrow. “Just because they’re not together right now, doesn’t mean that they’re not going to be together in the future though. Or that they don’t want to be together now, right?”

Celeste laughs again, shaking her head at what she perceives as another one of Bonnie’s wild theories, like that one she has about energies and meditation, but she quickly falls into silence when she realises that Madeline isn’t saying a word.

“Oh… my god,” she says, staring at her best friend, who in turn is staring adamantly into her coffee cup. “Maddie! You like  _ Jane!” _

“I do not!” she protests weakly. “Jesus, Bonnie!”

Bonnie laughs, looking criminally delighted with herself and the whole situation.

“You do!” Celeste exclaims. “You like Jane!  _ That’s  _ why you jumped at her offer to stay over, right?”

“This is ridiculous,” Maddie mutters, but no amount of refuting their claims will calm the burning of her cheeks, or tame the smile that’s spread over her lips.

“You know she likes you too, right?” Bonnie says calmly. “Madeline? Jane looks at you like you’re the last woman on earth.”

“She does, Bonnie’s right,” Celeste agrees. “And Ziggy just  _ adores  _ you.”

“Do you really think she likes me?” Maddie asks, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. It’s been years since she’s been properly interested in a person, years since she experienced the kind of butterflies that Jane gives her.

“Yes!”

“She can’t  _ not  _ like you, Maddie. You’re gorgeous.”

“Celeste’s right. That girl is besotted.”

Maddie grins at them and then waves away their teases. “Alright, alright. That’s enough.”

“You’re going to talk to her tonight, aren’t you? With these things, honesty is always the best policy. With me and Nathan, we had to talk for-”

“Bonnie!” Maddie whines. “Please. I’ll just ignore it and it’ll go away or I’ll talk to her and it won’t. Either way, I promise I’ll let you both know first thing tomorrow, okay? Is that what you want to hear? You’re like children.”

“And you’re the one grinning like the Cheshire Cat,” Celeste murmurs over the rim of her mug, unable to keep the smile from her own lips and eyes.

 

You get a text from Maddie when you’re going through the checkout at the store. She’s ready when you’re ready, it reads, and you’re not even able to stay irritated with her from the morning’s shower debacle, not able to keep your heart from crawling up your throat in a desperate bid for freedom every time she texts you or calls you or even so much as  _ looks  _ at you.

You hurry back out to your car and throw the food in the boot before you get in and drive to meet her.

 

She seems antsy, eager to see you and yet reserved, like she’s nervous. And she’s bubbling with something she wants to tell you, you can tell. She’s the worst at keeping secrets, she’s practically vibrating in her seat by the time you get back to your house.

“I’m a little concerned that you’re going to pop,” you tell her, heaving the bags from the trunk and slamming it shut. “What did Celeste tell you?”

“Nothing!” she answers quickly. A little too quickly. And then, “it was Bonnie, anyway.”

“Oh? Did she give you a new gluten free recipe?”

“Oh ha ha,” she says, taking your keys from you and opening the door to let you through.

“So are you going to tell me?” you ask, setting the grocery bags down on the table and automatically going about packing it all away into cupboards and into the fridge. “I got you some of that granola you asked for.” You shake the box at her, and stick it into the cereal cupboard next to Ziggy’s poptarts and Lucky Stars.

“Thank you,” she says, watching you intently.

“What? Have I got something on my face?”

She laughs and shakes her head, and then looks away and starts examining her nails instead. A little bit of familiar anxiety starts to bubble inside you, not enough to churn your gut but enough to make you wary, although she seems happy - happier than you’d left her, in fact - and then you worry that Celeste had told her that Ed had realised that he’d made a terrible mistake in leaving her and wants her back. Probably realised that he doesn’t know how to make pasta, or coffee, and needs her to deal with Chloe’s mounting attitude and the cleaning.

“Jane,” she starts, and then looks surprised, like she hadn’t meant to voice anything.

You turn to face her properly, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah? Is there something wrong?”

“No, not… Not really. Not at all.” And just as you’re about to press it before the anxiety can give way to proper panic, she surges forward and she’s cupping your face and pulling you down so that you’re level, and she’s searching your eyes for the answer to this unasked question.

You realise that she’s not going to go a single iota further until you’ve told her that it’s okay, and it is, it’s so overwhelmingly okay that you can’t voice it. You just watch her seriously as you wind your arms around her waist and close the distance between you yourself. She kisses you softly, standing on her tiptoes so she can reach you properly, and you wish that you’d had more warning, more time to quell the initial flurry of  _ oh my fucking god _ s, so that you’d have more time to commit this thing to memory.

She pulls back, looks breathless and unsure of herself, and you don’t let go. Instead, you pull her closer to you, feel her relax into you and rest her head on your shoulder as her arms wind around you.

“What did Bonnie tell you?” you ask, your head still reeling in the best possible way.

“That that would be reciprocated,” Maddie answers, smiling as she looks up at you and presses a kiss to your jawline and then pulls you back toward her so she can kiss you again, and again, and again, and again. And then, against your lips, she whispers, “And I’m so very glad she was right.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote myself into a hole and then out of it with this. idk i still think i hate it but :) what can u do
> 
> please forgive any typos i've not proofed it lmao
> 
> lov u alex


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